We Fight Like Hell
A Harry Potter and Supernatural Crossover Story
Author Note/Disclaimer: I do not own anything from the show Supernatural; the talented Eric Kripke created it. He's so awesome! The characters and anything that may be mentioned in this story is created by J.K. Rowling. The only thing I own is the original characters and the additions of some of the plot.
Pairings: Harry Potter/?, Dean Winchester/?, and Sam Winchester/?
Setting(s): Pre-Season 1 of Supernatural. Post Season 1. AU in some areas. Takes place through out the season of Supernatural with a few new hunts.
Summary: Everything he thought he knew had been a lie. His parents didn't die when he was a year old. He wasn't the Boy – Who – Lived, The Chosen One. There was no such thing as magic. Harry James Potter was written off as criminally insane and locked away at seventeen years old when he began to speak of magic and supernatural creatures. He was to be forgotten forever.
Strange things were starting to occur. Unexplainable incidents Harry couldn't control and caused by accident. Harry had been, for years, telling of Demons, Spirits and other Supernatural Creatures and that magic he swore existed, that there was a whole another world hidden from the 'Muggles'. The Doctors and Nurses deemed he would never be sane again and assumed he'd never see the outside of his white padded room.
Until One Night.
A sudden attack occurred, killing all but one.
Rating: NC-17 or M at times
Warnings: Violence, Strong Language, Adult Situations, Graphic Sex (Maybe), Alcohol Abuse, Mention/Show of Martial Abuse, Mention/Show of Child Abuse, Drug Abuse, Mention of Drug Abuse, Murder, Suicide, Rape, Kidnapping, Nudity, Fights, Torture, Slash (Male/Male and Female/Female), Demonic Possession, Supernatural Hunting, History Facts, Harry Potter AU, Bar Fights, ect.
Song: Secrets and Regrets by Pillar
October 22nd, 2002
Lennox Institution For The Criminally Insane
The thought resurfaced as he stared blankly at the wall in front of him. A thought he had desperately shoved to the back of his mind as he fought to keep his sanity. Was he really insane? It was an idea that was viewed and perceived differently by different people. The doctors and those that kept him sedated thought differently from himself and the patients that sat along side him in this padded prison he had begun to call home five years ago.
Somewhere and somehow the doctors said he had lost his mind. The mind that supposedly told a person right from wrong. What was good and what was apparently bad?
Harry hugged his knees closer to his chest as he rested his head upon them. The pale white wall in front of him seemed to glow brightly beneath the fluorescent lights of his cell… His room. His eyes stung but he couldn't seem to bring himself to turn away from the many shapes the stitching made. Faces and circles; Lines and X's. Patterns that few could see unless their focus remained solely upon that one spot.
He had asked himself that one question many times; the sanity and insanity question. What made a person insane? Was it what they believe or what they say and do?
Harry closed his eyes tight, so tight tears began to form in the corner of his eyes and slowly fall down his cheeks. He felt no sense of homesickness. As far as he was concerned his parents were dead. Along with anyone else he knew. Being locked within this padded prison of whites and fluorescent whites caused him to hate all those that were responsible for his stale and sterile white box.
A burning sensation built in his throat as it involuntarily tightened. He fought the urge to clench his jaw and grind his teeth. Nothing would have provided him with more comfort then the irresistibly easing feeling of the grinding of his teeth. It helped him think and rationalize, but it also brought the attention of his nurses and doctors. If they even thought he was grinding his teeth they would instantly set upon him and sedate him enough that he wasn't even able to move his jaw.
Slowly he opened one eye and looked to his left and then quickly to his right. That voice had returned. The deep and cracked voice spoke up again as he sat there within his thoughts. He closed his eyes again and moved his lips silently, voicing breathlessly his desire for it to end. It returned to him quite often, only when his mind was completely engrossed in something else.
The voice came again. Sounding amused and chipper. He kept his eyes closed tightly. He wasn't going to open his eyes this time. He knew instantly what he would see. The grotesque thing that tried to portray an old man. The thing that constantly haunted him, whether awake or asleep. It wasn't the only thing that haunted him, but it was one of the worst. He continued to move his lips silently and breathlessly.
Go Away. Go Away. Go Away.
"I'm not Beetlegeuse. But you can keep trying."
But you're as disgusting as he is and just as dead.
"Hardly." It spat with sharp contempt. There was silence as it continued to stare at him. A part of him felt like it was trying to will him to open his eyes, but he would fight it, he would resist at all costs. That's all he needed, his nurses to see him speaking to the wall or his knees. They wouldn't see him. They couldn't see all the things that came to him, all the tortured souls that seemed to only want to torture him.
Go Away. Go Away. Go Away.
"Nope. Nope. Nope."
There was a small amount of movement beside him, as the thing got comfortable, probably sitting exactly the same way he was. Knees below his chin as he rested his head upon them.
"You can't shut us out. We're like family now."
His heart choked silently on the word as it almost came scraping from his throat. He wanted to scream it out with compassion and urgency but he wouldn't let it. That wouldn't be a very strategic move. He wanted nothing more then to get out of his fluorescent sterile white prison not prolong his visit. But there was a plus side to this place. Drugs. It was those beautiful multicolored caplets that would send the brain on such a wonderful trip to nothingness. Now Nothingness. That was a place he would prefer to live. No sounds, no creepily evil creatures coming out of another world. Just…Nothingness.
That made him smile. Even in this uncomfortable situation he could find comfort in this wonderful thought. The only problem with this 'wonderful' idea was the time that would pass. There had been days that he would be unconscious. Sometimes it would feel like weeks. He had spent a whole afternoon one day in the main room watching the poor drugged out saps as they wandered aimlessly from one corner to another or sucked on a piece of a puzzle as they watched the TV with a glassy eyed expression. He knew that if he let them think he was crazy, he would wake up one morning fifty and half his life wasted away. Catatonia can only go so far.
"Don't pretend you can't hear me Little One."
Little one. He finally gave in to his urge to clench his jaw, but did not grind his teeth like he had really wanted to. That term of endearment that only he called him sent chills down his spine. He might as well have spat in his face. He opened one of his eyes and looked over at him, mouthing his words once again, but keeping his mouth carefully hidden from unwanted eyes.
Its eyes seemed to light up with a sick and perverted joy as he mouthed those words. It had gotten him to open his eyes and speak the words that it really wanted to hear. Its mouth cracked a sick and narcissistic smile that only made him hate it more. It came as an older gentleman this time, wrinkled and looking like a homeless man straight from the gutter, hair ratted and hanging across its face. Most likely it came in this form because it was one that he might have had pity for, but this was far from how he truly felt.
"You want to hear this."
He wrinkled his nose in disgust at him, not hiding his disdain of him in the least. There was one thing he had learned in his history with the things that came to visit him, they all thought that they had something he would want to hear. Since he was one of the few humans that could see them, they all thought they would be able to provide him something that no one else would. He snorted with a quiet laughter as he rolled his eyes at his statement.
Why don't we try something I haven't heard before?
It squinted his eyes and moved quickly out of its sitting position and moved directly in front of him. He was now sitting on his legs, it's hands palm down on the ground as it held itself up, leaning forward and staring intently into his face. Its eyes still gleaming with an evil and sadistic twinkle that would make anyone's blood turn to ice. He closed his eyes once more and sighed tiredly. He didn't want to do this anymore. Didn't want to hear anymore propositions or thoughts from these souls or demons or angels or whatever pieces of shit that seemed to drag themselves out from the bottom of the dregs of the in between worlds most people call purgatory.
Without waiting for him to speak he stood up from the floor, opening his eyes as he turned away from him and faced the door to his cell. Quietly he seemed to glide across the floor in his light blue hospital booties. He knocked softly upon his door and waited for the nurse to reach his 'room' before speaking. Not once did his eyes turn back to the bum looking thing in the corner of his room. The nurse reached his door with a rude grin. True their job had to have sucked, after all, there had been a few times a patient had thrown their fecal matter at a nurse or a doctor. But this was their job that was just usually thought of as more of a punishment then anything else.
"I'm ready for my medication now." There was no smile across his face as he spoke to the unhappy and fat nurse that now stood at the door.
Without so much as a look away the woman dropped a cup into the tray at his door and slid the little slot open. A swishing sound alerted Harry to the fact that food or drugs were being dropped off to him. He instantly gathered the small cup and downed the four pills. Quickly he turned around and walked to his bed and laid down. The Thing was now sitting at the end of his bed. His eyes avoided him the entire time, as he got comfortable under his light blankets. He was sending him a message and he knew just what he was trying to say.
"I'm not going anywhere Little One. You're going to want to know that something is coming for you."
Harry made an attempt to sit up but he couldn't. The drugs were already weighing him down. His head swam with a heavy blackness and he was gone. Gone into the beautiful world of nothingness. But this time, it wasn't so beautiful. He wanted to be awake now. Wanted to know this bit of sweet information that first drove him to this mental hospital.
October 26th, 2002
Four Days Later
Electric green eyes where dulled and dilated as he stared at the wall across the room from himself. His mind was slow processing from the drugs he had been induced to take by force after his latest accident. His hands, the color of pale porcelain white seemed to glow in the bright lights. His hands were clenched into tight fist around the light blue scrub pants he was forced to wear. His black mess of unruly hair hung in his eyes, hiding his unusually bright green eyes, and stopped growing at his chin.
The sound of cloth rustling against each other from the far side of the room made the young male stiffen. He clenched his eyes tightly closed and breathed out slowly, calmly, through his nose. He knew what was going to happen. What always happened when one of these creatures appeared. These ones weren't like the others; these ones were mysterious, more threatening and wicked. His breath came out in short shuttering puffs of white air. When these creatures crawled out of whatever hellhole they were placed in the first place, he was always left in pain and being watched even closer than before by his doctors and nurses.
Go Away. Go Away. Go Away.
He tried to find his safe place in the depth of his mind. The feel of hot breath against his face made him suck in a sharp breathe with a hiss. His dilated eyes remained tightly closed at the feel of the monster at his side. The steady sound of the creature's wheezy breathing was the only noise he could hear in the noiseless white padded room.
"Pretty…pretty…Little Boy." The raspy and gruff voice whispered in his ear. Harry's fist gripped tighter onto his scrubs as he fought off the wave of tears building in his eyes. Despair and melancholy washed over him in a cold gush of air. These creatures always had that affect on him, leaving him feeling depressed with no hope in the world. He hated them for that. But he also feared them for it. Dull nails dug into the palm of his hand, creating crescent scars. His lip trembled with frustration and trepidation as the many things that continued to haunt him all day, every day arose with these depressing emotions. He bit his lip tightly, his straight white teeth dug into the bottom of his chapped lip, creating a trickle of blood down his chin.
Leave me alone.
His breathing became faster as the room seemed to grow colder. "Nooo." It hissed out. "Now open those pretty little eyes. Pretty Little Boy." The brusque voice ordered, ignoring his weak words with a sadistic pleasure.
Little Boy. It was another term of endearment that this other particular monster liked to call him. The black haired, twenty two year old gulped and shook his head slightly. He tried not to draw any attention from the guards outside his door. After his recent accident in the main room, he was on constant surveillance. "Open those pretty little eyes." The voice demanded angrily.
He whispered, barely moving his lips with a small hiss through clenched teeth. He froze at the sudden stillness beside him. Perhaps it's gone? The silence remained with no reply from his new visitor, allowing him to open his eyes. His eyelashes fluttered against his high cheekbones as the tears from his eyes stuck to his thick dark eyelashes.
Turning his head to the side he became winded at the sudden sight he found himself across. He stared at creature to the side of him with revulsion.
The creature had blackened skin, looking like it had been burnt to a crisp. Parts of its skin was red and orange, it's veins showing clearly. Blackened scraggly hair fell in a mess over its head, hiding its pointed ears. Black iris's stared into his green eyes. Where the white should have been, there was bright red, like ruby blood. Its face was blackened and dried out from dehydration along with its red ruby lips. A demented smile crossed its face as it stared at the revolted young man, showing sharp dagger like teeth that where a yellowish color with bright red gums. Its tongue stuck out, licking its lips, staring the young man over hungrily.
Harry quickly looked away from the creature. Noticing how dark it was out in the hallways filled him with dread. The night was the time when these kinds of monsters liked to come out to play. The things always roamed the hallways of the asylum, amusing themselves with the patients inside. For reasons Harry hated, the things that haunted the halls of the asylum enjoyed taunting and playing with him the most.
With a grunt Harry pushed himself away from the creature and began to crawl backwards, as it crawled forwards. It used the tips of its toes to push itself forward and used the tip of its fingers to help it move, towards him. The dirty brown clothes it wore crumbled together with a rustle as it followed after the young man slowly, like a lion about to pounce.
"Pretty Little Boy. Scared of little ol' me." The croaky voice hissed in amusement. Watching as the young male continued to crawl backwards and over to the wall across the room.
No. Leave me alone.
He shook his head and grimaced as he bumped into the hard padded wall beside the bed. The creature tilted its head to the side in a curious fashion as it continued to watch Harry like a curious bird would. But this creature was no innocent little bird; it was much, much worst. Its eyes wandered over his blue scrubs with mischievous interest.
"Pretty Little Boy doesn't want to play." It stated gruffly. Harry would have taken offense to being called 'pretty', had he been in the right state of mind. He hated and loved the drugs given to him. The drugs were what kept him from seeing the things, but if he was still awake from the medication, they warped his vision, allowing him to see the many supernatural monsters, whether they be 'good' or 'bad', true visage.
The creature crawled closer, reaching out with a dirty and burnt hand it grabbed onto his ankle and gave it a tug, pulling him back towards the thing before him. Biting his lip to keep from screaming, he gave a pained moan as his head hit the hard padded flooring with a thud.
He used his free foot and kicked at the creature. It cackled loudly at the attempt the young man was causing. Pulling him closer it pounced on top of him and grabbed onto his hands roughly, pulling them above his head as it pinned his legs down with its own. "Pretty Little Boy likes to fight." It taunted mockingly. Tilting its head to the side the grotesque thing smiled in a perverted way, a vicious and playful twinkle in its eyes.
Let me go.
He squirmed beneath it as he tried to fight it off. The drugs had the worst side affects. Making him feel weak and defenseless. Harry was not a weakling by any means. For being locked away in an asylum, he was surprisingly fit, standing at 6'2 with a muscular build; he was not one to go down easily.
The creature laughed joyously at the fight the young man was putting up. "Little Boy likes to play rough." It hissed in his ear, licking the side of his face. Grimacing with revulsion he pushed his cheek to the side and stifled the cry that wanted to release. Shaking his head he turned his head back to face the creature on top of him. Pushing his head into the floor as much as possible, he brought his head forward, knocking heads with the thing on top of him.
It grunted at the sudden hit, stumbling back to some extent it growled in a foreboding manner at the young twenty two year old man. "Little Boy doesn't know when to stop." It murmured in his ear. Harry leaned his head back, his head turned to the left, showing the right side of his pale neck. The breathe of the monster was enough to make vomit burn the back of his throat. It leaned forward, bringing its nose down to his neck and gave a small sniff. It purred with sadistic pleasure. With a lick of its red tongue against his neck, it gave a small kiss. Opening its mouth, its teeth scrapped against his next before biting him firmly. Blood bubbled to the surface of the sharp wound that looked like a bite mark. The blood pooled over his neck and onto the padded white floor in gushes. With a scream of pain Harry tried to fight it off again.
The sound of the door to his room opening made him cry out with relief. Looking up he noticed the creature had disappeared. With a groan of tired relief his head remained laying on floor, staring up at the ceiling blankly. The guards looked around hurriedly, trying to find the cause of the scream of pain. The guards looked at the twenty two year old patient, noticing the blood dripping form his lip and neck.
"Thank you." He chocked out. Tears clung to his eyelashes, causing his eyes to glimmer. Glancing to one another, one of the guards stepped out into the hall, yelling out for a nurse.
October 30th, 2002
Four Days Later
The voice spoke up, breaking the silence of the room. The still form of Harry sat frozen in an uncomfortable metal chair, staring at the wall in front of him with slightly dull green glazed eyes. His head tilted to the left side, showing the bandages wrapped around the right side of his neck. At the sound of the Doctors voice he turned his eyes to the older man sitting across from him and blinked once, then twice, not speaking. His features remained expressionless; he waited patiently for the doctor to speak.
"Can you tell me what happened Harry?" Dr. Manson questioned curiously, cautiously. As if he was speaking to a small child that had a gun or knife in their hand. Harry remained silent for a moment before speaking in a soft voice, his glazed eyes from the drugs in his system spoke of a silent pain and fear that startled Dr. Manson before the emotions disappeared as fast as they appeared. Was he imagining it? The doctor wondered thoughtfully.
"I had a bad reaction to the medication." Harry lied with a small shrug of his shoulders. His dull green eyes looked to the doctor before a small sigh admitted from his dry, chapped lips. "It's happened before. It happened again." Harry said in an emotionless voice. As if he had rehearsed what he was saying. As if he had done this before, but not to this extent.
The Doctor gave a sigh and rubbed his eyes as he stared at his patient. From the beginning Doctor Manson had been trying to help Harry. Ever since he was seventeen years old, he had taken care of Harry. "Why do I not believe you?" Dr. Manson questioned warily.
Harry looked up at his Doctor for the last five and a half years. Even if he had, had other Doctors, Dr. Manson was the one that stuck on. He gave a halfhearted smirk at the other man. "I've tried to tell the truth before Carl. All that happened was getting even more drugs."
Doctor Manson shook his head and ran a hand through his brown hair. He looked at his patient closely before speaking slowly. "It's a little hard to believe that Demons…Angels…Spirits…Magic…Psychics…that all of this exist, Harry." Carl replied calmly as he stared his patient in the eyes. "That you have these…visions…dreams…nightmares? That you make impossible things happen, since your birthday three months ago and since your were a young child, is unbelievable."
A bitter smile graced the young patients face as he rubbed his hand over his scrubs. "Try dealing with it Doc. Imagine knowing all these things, seeing them and knowing you can't do anything. Knowing that you're constantly seeing them, being spoken to by these…things, it's hard not to think I'm crazy, when I know I'm not." He stated in a clipped tone.
"Har – " Carl Manson was cut off from speaking when the sudden presence of Nurse Judy appeared in the doorway of Carl's office. Nurse Judy had been working at Lennox's Institution for the Criminally Insane since Harry had been placed there five and a half years ago.
"Doctor Manson we need your help. Edward is having another one of his episodes. This ones worst than any other ones!" Nurse Judy exclaimed breathlessly as she stared expectantly at the Doctor. Carl quickly stood and nodded.
"Harry," Doctor Manson called out, catching Harry's attention. He had been staring blankly at the wall across from himself with a curious tilt of his head, as if he was listening to something or someone. "Can I trust you to behave yourself while here by yourself?" Carl questioned with a raise of his eyebrow.
"Of course Dr. Manson. I'll be good. No worries." Harry replied with a crooked smile. With another nod, Carl quickly rushed out of his office, Nurse Judy following on his heels.
Two bracelets from the hospital were wrapped around his arms, showing the date, time and what was wrong in small print. Scars and bruises marred his skin, mostly on his arms, chest and back, from the many things that had visited him since his placement in the hospital wing.
Harry listened to the hurried footsteps disappear from the hallway and stood slowly. Rushing around the metal desk he searched through the many papers in the folder on top of the desk, his folder. Glancing at the scribbling words of the doctors he had seen since his time there he read the psychosis of what the doctors thought he had.
Name: Harry James Potter
D.O.B: 31 July 1980
Patient Number: 6669
Disorder: Has shown cases of Acute Paranoia Schizophrenia. Symptoms shown are hallucinations; he believes he is seeing Supernatural Creatures. His sleeping patterns have changed rapidly. He has been sleeping during the day and remaining awake at night. His energy level has changed since he has first come here. Mr. Potter has been having delusions that some members of the staff are possessed. When Mr. Potter reached his twenty - third birthday he began having episodes where he believes that voices are speaking to him. When asked who was speaking to him, he mentioned Angels, Demons and Spirits of the Dead.
His nervousness, since he was first placed at Lennox, become more prominent when it neared sunset. He has been making strange statements of the end coming and his behavior has changed to anger, frustration and wariness. He has been known to attack staff or other patient members. He has had a tendency to argue with taking medication at times and many other nonessential things. He is convinced that people are hunting for him, that there are evil beings, Demons, looking for her. He has been seen muttering about Angels and Hunters searching for him along with the Demons.
He is showing signs of Antisocial Personality Disorder, he has been known to be deceitful and repeatedly lie and use aliases. Impulsively, he is known to react first and ask questions later. He has had rapid aggressiveness and irritability, having repeatedly fought and assaulted many staff members and other patients.
Harry rolled his eyes at what was written down. Acute Paranoid Schizophrenia? Antisocial Personality Disorder? What a load of bullshit. With a shake of his head, the young man flipped the page in the folder and began to read the next set of diagnosis from the Doctors he had seen over his eight years at the asylum.
Disorder: Dissociative Identity Disorder. He has shown symptoms of depression during odd moments before quickly changing back to his usual personality. He has strange mood swings that change rapidly. He is known for sleeping sporadically. We now he has a sleeping disorder, leading him to insomnia and night terrors when he does sleep when given the right medication. He has shown psychotic actions and mood swings. I believe patient 6669 has hypersomnia. He had been constantly seen sleeping during the day.
Disorder: Depersonalization and derealization disorder. He seems to ignore everything and everyone around him during an episode he has at some point during the night. He has been known to be detached to everyone around him and ignores any Doctors or Nurses trying to communicate with him. He has been seen in the recreation room sitting by himself starring out the window. He has shown signs of a photographic memory. Memorizing, remarkably, little things that may have moved the slightest.
Harry has been making progress until quite recently. More often he has been having episodes and been lying more often than not. I believe he may be Bipolar and be a Compulsive Liar.
Harry frowned at the written diagnosis. Did he really have these disorders? Was he really insane? His eyebrows furrowed with thought. With a flick of his hand, the folder closed. The buzzing sound of the lights was the only noise in the small square sized room. Shaking his head to rid himself of any thoughts, Harry made a move to walk around the desk when the sudden sound of a loud 'boom' shook the building. He was flung off his feet from whatever it was that went off. His eyesight went tunnel vision as his eyelashes fluttered open and then closed in a continuous manner. With a small groan Harry tried to sit up and gave a cry of pain as the shocking mind numbing stabbing pain in his leg caused the young male to collapse back onto his back breathlessly. With a shuttering breath, the twenty two year old lost consciousness.
October 31st, 2002
One Day Later
Harry awoke with his ears ringing and his vision blurred as he lay upon debris of what was once the office desk. Pieces of the ceiling and wall were scattered about the area that could have once been called an office. No longer was it a room, but empty space. He could vaguely remember hearing the screams of nurses and doctors. He remembered the noise of crying and yelling patients before silence descended.
How long have I been out? Why was it so silent? With no answers to his questions that echoed in his mind, Harry made to move, to sit up and groaned from the pain he felt through out his shaking body. His arms shook with strain and his head pounded. The young man blinked rapidly, trying to dispel the liquid from his eyes.
Raising a shaky hand, he used his pale piano thin fingers to wipe away the liquid. Looking down, electric green eyes stared with numbness at the ruby red blood that decorated the tip of his fingers. What happened? It was the first thought that popped into his mind as he finally got his bearings and looked around the destroyed room.
He stood slowly from the floor, his hands cutting into the sharp pieces of wall and fallen wall, causing cuts to appear and sprinkle out red blood. Hissing in pain he tried to put pressure onto his right leg, the leg not hurt. Harry glanced down to see a large gash on his left leg. It was deep and clearly covered in different materials from the walls and wood. The blue scrub pants he wore, were dirty and bloody. The area where his pant was cut was sticking to the leg from the amount of blood that continued to fall from his leg. Blood continued to drizzle steadily down his leg, leaving him feeling light headed where he stood. Harry made his way slowly through the mess of debris. Perhaps there were survivors?
He croaked out as he looked around the destroyed hall. The sight of the main room destroyed and bloody bodies scattered among the room made his stomach turn and bile rise in his throat. Walls had been destroyed and flooring had fallen out. What had happened here?
"Anyone here?" Harry called out. He walked slowly and unsteadily over the debris. Ceilings had caved in, leaving holes in the roofs, allowing moonlight to stream through the opening. Only holes were left in place of once tan painted walls. Tile and wood flooring were cracked and broken away from the bomb. He stumbled over the mess, his hurt leg protesting the whole time. His matted clothes clung to his body from sweat and blood. The smell of burning flesh and copper hung in the air in a haze. His throat tightened in discomfort as the vile tried to rise from his throat.
Fires burned through out the building making smoke rise in the air in a cloud of black and gray. Harry's eyes burned with discomfort as he tried with blurry and watery eyes to find his way out. With a gasp of air he stumbled through the front of the now destroyed building. He had ignored any sign of bodies in the old building, not wanting to loose what was left of the insides of his stomach. He took deep needed breaths of cool, crisp air, letting his burning lungs relax.
"Still alive I see." A husky voice stated from behind Harry. With a quick turn, Harry opened his mouth to ask a question, when all went black for a moment. With a grunt of pain, he collapsed onto the cold grassy landscape. The cold water seeped into his too thin clothes, causing a small shutter to rush over his body. The last thing he saw was a figure with black eyes holding a metal bat at its side. "He'll be glad." The voice murmured, loud enough for Harry to hear before he finally lost consciousness and allowed blankness to over come him.
Feedback would be great!